Menagerie
by certaintimecertainplace
Summary: Set initially between Episode 12 and Episode 13 as the witches are preparing for the Seven Wonders. Cordelia and Misty learn to trust each other as Misty staves off insecurities about her position within the Coven. Cordelia's friendship and her affinity with nature begin to neutralise her internal conflicts as she deals with the brutality of her past.
1. Chapter 1

"Misty? Are you in here?" Cordelia paced tentatively along the corridors of the Academy, her fingers gently skimming the white-washed walls as she walked. A hollow ache disturbed her insides as she contemplated the ever decreasing sense of security she felt within Miss Robichaux's of late; it was as if the building's foundations were decaying. Her fingers traced along a cleft through the wall and Cordelia leant into it, her cane preserving her balance long enough to call out once more.

"Misty? Where are you?" The restless swamp witch had an irrevocable habit of vanishing at the most vital of times.

Cordelia creased her eyebrows, uncertainty causing her to doubt the strength of her cane. She forced it chaotically forwards, searching for the support of the piano nestled in the corner of the room.

"Cordelia, dear, I feel as though one should control one's charges with far firmer a grasp." Myrtle's dense footsteps invaded the room, the rich scent of floral perfume pervading the air around her. She strode with assertion towards a table framing the back wall of the room, and set down a freshly arranged collection of flowers contained elegantly within a clear vase. Her fingers pecked gently at their leaves, dictating their positions on each stem with an intensity that would seem excessive from anyone else but Myrtle.

"Your Misty is dabbling in the green house again," Myrtle said, dismissively shaking her arm at Cordelia. "Does it really surprise you, Delia? The girl can barely bring herself to part with that glorious collection of flora. Or that ethereal music she so vigorously engages with."

Cordelia's muscles relaxed slightly in relief. Of course it had occurred to her to look for Misty in the greenhouse, but when she had visited earlier its emptiness and the evocation of memories of Fiona and Hank had polluted its natural purity – and Misty had been remarkably absent.

"I tried to teach her of the many delightful qualities of the Theremin but I felt more as though I was discussing haute couture fashion with a Catholic nun..." Myrtle continued to debate Misty's musical tendencies with the buds and petals orchestrated on the table before her, barely noticing as Cordelia took increasingly purposeful steps in haste to exit the room. Her subsequent determination to return to Misty seemed uncharacteristic in the house, which itself seemed to wane in conviction whenever someone new disappeared. The walls seemed to recoil as Cordelia stormed past them, her authority and influence dominating the dense floorboards of the Academy. Today was becoming uncomfortable to endure.

* * *

_And it all comes down to you  
Well, you know that it does  
Well, lightning strikes, maybe once, maybe twice_

A gentle humming permeated the air. The ghostly silhouette of the perturbed swamp witch danced like smoke from within a forest of fervent plants. Her isolation elevated her above the mass of flowering euphorbia plants, their petals reciprocating her fluid movements in the breeze undulating from her billowing shawl. Their tender yellow colour seemed to penetrate the dim light of the room, framing the menagerie in which her powers seemed to flourish.

_Oh, and it lights up the night_

Misty wove through the entwined foliage, gnawing placidly on a blade of grass she'd recovered this afternoon. Occasionally, she would pause to dab some moist swamp mulch at the base of surrounding plants. With each delicate application, they appeared to recline in submission at her benevolence. Her humming subsided as she analysed each delicate branch, enveloped by the peaceful atmosphere of her menagerie. Her synthetic haven felt somewhat heavier than the surroundings of her swamp abode. For all the relief she felt, murkiness still lingered on her skin. The pace of her gnawing increased as reflected on the clarity that had been torn away from her upon arriving at the Academy. Returning after her imprisonment in the crypt had not bestowed mad her complacent. She still felt the agony and violence of a storm churning itself up within her stomach.

"Misty? I've been looking all over for you. I really wish you wouldn't vanish so suddenly when the coven is this vulnerable." Cordelia's agitation tainted her words as she burst into the greenhouse. The recent devastation she had endured at the loss of her unforgiving mother had certainly not erased the integrity with which she guarded her Academy.

The bay plants surrounding Misty became rigid, stood on guard. Their stems tensed and the spectacle of leaves snapped together regimentally, expelling any threat from the room. Misty felt an insurgence of energy strike her at the sound of Cordelia's refined voice. Her eyes darted earnestly over to the passageway at the edge of the room, resting with ease on Cordelia's sophisticated frame.

"I'm sorry, Miss Cordelia. I hadn't realised y'all were looking for me," she began. "I heard my plants weepin' all night. Didn't get a wink of sleep. Thought I'd better give 'em all a bit more nurturin' today is all."

Cordelia stood, slightly perplexed by her reply. On the other side of the room, Misty adjusted a loose scrap of fabric on her skirt urgently and dipped around the base of a bay plant. The bucket she held swung loosely at her side, with the cuttings from a sage plant amassing in a stack at its base.

"Look, I got somethin' to show you. I've been workin' on that spell you gave me and I've never seen a flower grow like it before - not even from my swamp mud and I swear by that every time," said Misty as she thrust her arm towards Cordelia and snatched up her hand. Cordelia flinched slightly at the sudden contact but allowed herself to be led further into the greenhouse. Misty clasped her hand around Cordelia's delicate fingers and guided her over to the flourishing bay plants. She slowly removed her grasp and placed the tentative hand over a sole, delicate leaf.

A sharp intake of breath caught in the air and Cordelia revelled in the inherent serenity of the plant. The vibrancy of each leaf was intoxicating. Their edges were blades beneath the tip of her finger and the new buds pulsated like blood along each stem and branch. Whispers seeped from each elusive vein within, amalgamating every voice to form a heavenly chorus of flora quite unlike anything Cordelia had experienced in her own magic.

"Thank you for rescuing me."

Cordelia withdrew her hand from the plant abruptly.

"You don't have to thank me, Misty. You are my responsibility and I failed you the second I let Madison get her claws into you. You are a part of this coven and it was my duty to protect you." The lavender buds shivered.

Misty clung to her bucket ardently. The storm in her stomach riled itself, causing her to wince slightly at its fury. She nodded in self-assurance and rocked on the muddy balls of her feet. In repudiation she pulled herself back towards her menagerie. The orchids were wilting and she needed to heal them.

Cordelia felt a brush of air against her as the young witch wistfully surpassed her to tend to her plants.

"Misty, why are you so consumed by nature?" The question evaded her lips before she could swallow it.

The bay leaves rustled faintly as Misty began to coil the tassels of her shawl around her fingers. She was taken aback by Cordelia's engagement and attempted to conceal herself behind a peony bush. After several empty moments of re-evaluation and the gentle encouragement of the foliage, she stepped forward again, shifting out of the shadows.

"It's my constant, Miss Delia."

Cordelia tilted her head and rested her weight onto her cane.

"There is clarity in its changin'. I don't have to be worried by the seasons. They're predictable and the plants hear me and know when I'm callin'. I ain't never been outgoing but nature..." She cut herself off briefly.

"It has sustained me."


	2. Chapter 2

The clarity of her voice absorbed Cordelia. Its many dimensions acted as confirmation of her inherent purity. The heaviness of Cordelia's own troubled thoughts began to lift, evaporating like fog from her mind. Misty's idyllic visions of nature had enthralled her.

She immersed herself in the imagery, embracing the anonymity the developing trees provided her. The boundaries between her own reality and Misty's appeared to crumble as the words guided her through the landscape. The landscape, itself containing a wealth of contradictions, welcomed the presence of another likeminded soul. The trees stood proudly as columns, guiding her through the superior temple of nature. The gradual slope of the hillside ahead summoned her to its transient peak, gesturing for her to explore further. Light grazed the air, summoning calmness from deep within her into emergence. The compassion of the earth sought to recover her from the conflict she'd grown so used to feeling, as the soft ground beneath her feet responded delicately to every movement. The clarity she felt whilst immersed in nature was overwhelming. She grounded herself in it, rejoicing at the power of her heightened senses and resisting the pull of a force that sought to separate her from it. Her surroundings epitomised beauty in decay.

A sudden, intense intake of breath wrenched Cordelia back into her familiar darkness.

"Hell, even I didn't know I could do that!" Shock reverberated from Misty's voice as she released Cordelia's hand from her own. She stepped back and spun towards the menagerie behind her, huddling into her shawl. "Didn't the trees just elevate you?" She spun back again. "They were like... towers! And the way they held themselves – we were constant in them." Her hands gesticulated wildly as she twirled around the greenhouse.

"The power of telepathy," Cordelia declared. "You're quite the surprise, Misty Day." She felt calmly for her cane, struggling to contain her desire to smile.

"Do you think so, Cordelia?" She wasn't expecting a reply.

The elusive darkness hung in the air. Misty exhaled silently, recovering from the elation that had gripped her so in sharing the precious images with her headmistress. She rested her palms on the edge of the counter and admired the blossoming azalea which faced her. Her fingertip brushed carefully along its wrinkled petals; a splash of warm pink diffusing across the flower. The stillness that cradled the two witches seemed to encourage the flower's colour to deepen.

An aspect of Cordelia ached in unison with the thriving plant. The agony of her wounded eyes still seethed behind her flesh as desperately as she tried to reject its aggression. Yet her enchanting encounter with Misty appeared to revitalise her belief in the future of the Coven.

"I think I'm going to call a meeting of the Coven with the other girls," Cordelia said. Her words reattached the pieces of their initial meeting. She pivoted with the aid of her cane and attempted to find her way out of the greenhouse.

"Let me help!" Misty darted over to her, latching onto her free arm and assuming once more the position of a guide; the provider of sight in multiple dimensions. She sought out Cordelia's tense hand and began to walk forward. Her shawl swept against the headmistress' shoulder as she clasped both hands around her fingers. Their physical closeness and the warmth of their touching skin underwrote the trust they both craved. That their friendship had manifested itself in Misty's growing power had disturbed Cordelia's preconceptions of the young witch. She remained in thought as she relinquished her power to Misty; allowing the swamp witch to guide her through the Academy's intimate corridors.

"The power of telepathy," Misty muttered, barely audibly. "I like the sound of that."

* * *

"Is this gonna take long?" Madison sighed, picking irately at her fingernails. Plucking at their smooth tips distracted her from the petulant stares of the others witches. Their eyes were too critical of her demeanour.

Cordelia pursed her lips dismissively at Madison's remark, readying herself to finally tackle the severe divisions within the Coven. She had lost count of the many times they had gathered in this manner to repeat the same plea for harmony. There had clearly been little success.

"I do not care how long this meeting takes," she replied, rigidly holding the handle of cane, "but the state of this Coven will continue to be our main priority. We have been a divided unit for too long and, in the light of my mother's death, must resolve our disputes before we are consumed by our own selfishness."

Madison folded her arms furiously across her chest. "Oh, grow up Delia. This isn't Girl Scouts. This shit show's a goddamn power play – it always has been and always will be unless we grow a backbone."

"Union is a necessity for the preservation of our kind, Madison," Myrtle said, abruptly. Her pale eyes narrowed, concerned but unsurprised by Madison's proclamation. She rose from her seat and diligently walked over to the fireplace. Her wistful mannerisms faintly overthrew the sincerity of her point.

"She's just pissed that Misty kicked her ass," chuckled Queenie. Her eyes flitted over to Madison, who glared viciously back in retaliation. Misty's unassuming giggle heightened the intensity of her stare.

"Shut it!" Madison snarled. She clenched her fists tightly, her face taut in anger.

"Girls - this is no time for fighting!" Cordelia shouted sternly. "Surely I've made this point clear to you enough times. That's exactly the reason why I called you all to this meeting." She clutched her cane firmly between her palms, leaning forward onto its handle as she perched on the edge of the gilded sofa.

"We cannot afford to remain in this state," she continued, her tone of voice lowering. "You are all aware of the upcoming trials of the Seven Wonders, and of the new manifestations of your powers."

Misty's gentle face invaded her thoughts without warning. Her power of telepathy. The peaceful images she had relayed to Cordelia. She struggled to recover herself from the alluring memories. Only a bitter current of fear could pull her back. "Our next Supreme must do right by this Coven."

Myrtle nodded solemnly in agreement. The angular strands of her fiery hair illuminated against the dusk. Her hands were frozen as if engaged in religious contemplation, barely visible from beneath the jagged cuffs of her garish crimson jacket.

Cordelia adjusted her position swiftly in her seat. "I have no doubts about the strength of each of your individual powers. But I'm compelled to tell you to use them properly. Our Coven is strongest as a unit. At the very least, defeating the Axeman must have been enough for you to realise that."

"Can we go now?" asked Madison. Her foot tapped manically within its sleek boot.

"Patience, Madison. _Finally_," she said, evoking particular stress on the latter syllables, "I want you all to learn how to control your powers; to understand them. Only then will we be able to determine who the real Supreme is." She harvested a lingering sense of dread as she spoke those final words. Her mother's carelessness and lack of concern for the Coven's safety still plagued her, even now.

Madison's boots pounded the floor as she stood up and paced towards the doorway. The usual vivacity of her walk was absent, with innumerable aspects of her body still in remission from the harsh attack she'd endured from Misty. As she passed the armchair in which Misty sat with her chin resting inadvertently on her knees, Madison bent gratuitously over to her. She paused, leaning in closely beside her ear.

"You're not a part of this Coven," she spat. Her voice was dense and intimidating. She remained barely for a few seconds before storming out of the room, satisfied at her minor revenge.

Misty hesitantly considered following the arrogant witch to resume their battle, yet the rage within her scarcely held. Madison's words were cruelly intended and Misty knew there was little to be done to avoid their painful impact. She had spoken quietly, barely attracting attention from the sombre persons of Zoe and Queenie, who also vacated the room once Cordelia had finished speaking.

Misty's eyes flickered in surrender. Her solitary soul anticipated the isolation of life without the Coven, without the support of Cordelia, of sustenance in nature. It was a fear she did not want to have to realise again.

And she was gone; tearing through the corridors, gasping for meaningful breath until she reached the sanctuary of her small bedroom. Closing the door rapidly behind her, she fell against it and collapsed to the floor. Bad vibes. She resented not paying more attention to her discomfort sooner.

Trouble stirred within her veins. A panic had overcome her. The reality of her loneliness before she'd arrived here had been insufferable and she was not prepared to revisit it. She ran her fingers into her fragile mess of hair and sighed heavily. Her breathing was irregular. She squeezed her eyes shut and fought to control the irregularity.

"_Every night that goes between,_" she began to murmur under her breath, "_I feel a little less._" Her hands fell, gripping desperately at the shawl draped across her shoulders.

A sudden, brisk tap at the door grounded her aches.

"Misty, are you ok?" came Cordelia's voice through the woodwork.

"No, Miss Cordelia." Misty's head fell into her hands. "I am afraid."

_I have always been a storm._


	3. Chapter 3

Cordelia's palm leant heavily against the door. Her thumb gently swept over the wood as she waited. An uneasy stillness permeated the hallway as she folded her legs beneath her, settling patiently in the dusk. Her lips pursed in mellow reflection as she rested her body on the door frame. Its vivid edges towered endlessly above her; their silhouettes increasingly threatening as the light evaded the night-time.

"_Every hour of fear I spend," _whispered a bristly, quiet voice through the door, "_my body tries to cry._" Her fragility quivered in the melody.

"Misty, please let me in," Cordelia uttered. She was no longer sure how she intended this to sound. The melody tumbled further through the wooden panels, pleading to her in sensitivity. Yet the door remained shut.

From the other side of the monstrous obstacle, the heartbreaking words continued to dance, steadily and without consciousness. The wood caught and supported Misty's head, itself hidden partially behind her intricate curls. Faint lines of frustration decorated her forehead. Her earnest eyes resigned themselves to fixation upon the blank, white walls containing her. Redundancy. It held her where she'd fallen.

Her ears twitched at the occasional purrs of Cordelia's voice from the corridor. But they barely reached her. Memories sparsely interrupted her thoughts as she wove through the chain of lyrics sewn together in her mind. To be so external was a familiar experience. It was constant.

Regret plagued her thoughts. Since her imprisonment in the insufferable crypt and Madison's infuriating indifference to her ordeal, the memories of her life before the execution had obscured themselves behind every passage in her mind. She would hasten to divert each excruciating thought that confronted her, only to cower habitually at the appearance of another. Occasionally they would emerge as lucid dreams to disturb her subconscious. Their reality was fervently undeniable, and relentlessly unbearable.

"Misty, please," said Cordelia, her voice pattering through the wooden boundary. The solemnity of her words bored through Misty's own convoluted mutterings. The intrinsic beauty of the poetry she'd been singing remained, yet the cohesion in the lyrics had gone. There were so many pollutants bombarding her, both internally and from the oppressive environment ensnaring her.

"I can't."

The words broke from her throat.

She slumped in exhaustion onto the floor, clutching at fabric and flesh, failing to find relevance in their distinction. Sobs sent tremors through her limbs. She embraced them.

With time seeming irrelevant and irretrievable, Cordelia grappled for connection with Misty. As the delicious lyrics faded into elated patterns of breathing from within the bedroom, she seemed to wilt in communion with her inconsolable friend. Each attempt to speak with her merely echoed aimlessly within the corridor. Her hand barely broke contact with the door, momentarily in indecision over whether or not to exercise her power of telekinesis. She reminded herself that Misty needed to trust her, and would do so in her own time. She hoped.

* * *

"Rough night, Delia?" smirked Madison, gliding along the corridor. Dawn rested on her shoulders.

Cordelia jolted awake. Sleep clogged her initial thoughts as her hands fumbled over the wooden floor panels. They were coarse beneath her fingers. The uneven recollections of the night she'd spent curled in this alcove beside Misty's room filtered into her mind. She formulated no reply to Madison as she listened to her footsteps digress. Pressing her ear against the door, she listened avidly for movement from within.

"Misty, are you awake?" she asked, anticipating a warm response from the typically enthusiastic swamp witch.

_No, _was the inaudible reply.

Cordelia considered her next action. Adjusting the position of her ear on the wall, a sudden idea propelled her to stand up. The remnants of sleep dripped from her as she rose resolutely and paced away from the door. She had sensed the impression of Misty's breath in the atmosphere.

She returned briskly several minutes later, finding that she was now rather adept at navigating through the Academy's deluge of passageways. The pockets of her cardigan draped slightly with the weight of a new acquisition. Reaching out her arms, she hunted for the alcove in which she'd spent the night, her hands finding the familiar space as she knelt into it. She searched inside her pockets and withdrew a small handful of sundry leaves. Folding her fingers carefully around them, she breathed over their fragile bodies. They tingled vividly at the sensation of her voice.

She trailed her finger down the wall and located the gap beneath the door, a determination etched into the lines of her face. She tilted her palm and released the leaves onto the floor, ushering them under the gap, resigning to wait patiently for their receipt.

Misty's head was furious and cloaked in sleep. The fury did not belong to her, yet it clung to her soul and cursed it. It was relentless except in daytime, when the light prevented it from invading too far. Today was different. The fury fell upon her, lay beside her, and writhed continuously around her. She slept to evade it but it lurked in her dreams too.

As the fury settled around her, so did the daylight. She stirred, noticing the presence of new souls beside her, which spoke softly as if to summon her attention. Her eyes slowly opened, revealing the serpentine knot of arms with which she guarded her face. She unfurled them and rubbed her eyes. The heaviness still concentrated itself within her, but a relief pervaded the room as her eyes fell upon the menagerie of leaves convened on the floor. An innocent hum emitted from them; a choir of bay, basil and honeysuckle leaves. Their orchestral voices absorbed her and sketched faint happiness onto her face. She shuffled onto her knees and scooped them up; their purity illuminating in her eyes.

"Oh," she gasped, cradling the leaves. Their aura enthralled her.

The tips of her fingers flitted as she glanced quickly at the handle on the door. The language of the leaves had persuaded her out of silence.

The door cracked open.

Cordelia toppled abruptly at the sudden movement and collapsed forward, her arms exploring the vacant space desperately.

"Misty? Are you ok?" she urged, pulling herself to her feet and stepping around the door. There was a fresh vivacity loitering within the dense walls.

"There's so much magic in 'em!" Misty exclaimed, beaming at the leaves she held. Her eyes flew to Cordelia as she staggered into the room, Misty's arms rushing to hold her once she deposited the pulsating foliage on the ground. "Come look," she continued, hauling Cordelia towards her as she nudged the door closed.

She gathered up the leaves and seated herself opposite the headmistress, analysing the ineffable qualities of the small aspects of flora.

"You brought 'em to me, Cordelia. Thank you," she said. The familiar tenderness and warmth in her voice suggested a revival of her person. Its sound was enchanting.

"I was worried about you," replied Cordelia. "I _am_ worried about you." She stretched out her arm until she discovered Misty's knee, resting it lightly there in reassurance.

"I know. I could hear you out in the hall. I'm sorry I didn't let you in – I couldn't. The noise was too loud."

Misty felt Cordelia's hand squeeze her knee calmly. An insurgence of energy fizzled through her at the comfort she felt from their contact. Her eyebrows peaked in affirmation at Cordelia's gestures; observing her headmistress' controlled and fluid movements with superficial optimism.

"You can trust me, Misty," she said, a simplicity suspended in her voice. "I want to know what's troubling you, and I will listen when you're ready to tell me."

With a hesitant nudge of her shoulder and a swift glance at the foliage in her hands, Misty pondered the honesty of Cordelia's statement. There was a transparency in the nature of the refined headmistress that Misty yearned to rely on; the bustling array of leaves hastening to agree with her. A further encouraging touch on her knee felt elemental.

"The memories aren't always there," Misty began, motioning loosely with her hands as she attempted to settle her thoughts. "Sometimes, when the air is loudest, this awful fire sits in my chest and stops me breathin'." She trailed off.

Her chest pulsated as she choked back words that had wrestled like fury within her. Clasping her hands over the leaves, she drew inspiration from the animated shards of basil and their relentless powers over evil.

She was ready.


	4. Chapter 4

Misty clung to the leaves, a smile breaking from the corners of her lips. "Takin' me back to nature," she said.

"To help us feel safer," Cordelia replied, her hand pressing more intensely on Misty's leg. Cordelia's words enveloped her. Nature was something they both understood and revelled in. It was their safe haven.

"I can't make the fire go away. Even where I've forgotten things, it sits there like a wedelia plant after a storm – refuses to die," Misty said. The words started to creep out of her. It was an unfamiliar experience; allowing Cordelia to share in her torment, to recover her from it. This freedom was what she'd been searching for.

Misty traced over the surface of each leaf and continued, "When I came back, all I could remember were flames. They still ain't gone yet. Took me a while to work out why they were there... what it was that Mother Nature was tryin' to tell me. As I lost myself in the swamp, in the trees, it started comin' back to me. I remembered all kinds of stuff about my home an' my family, an' finally what happened to me. It was like they recognised what I was before I did, and burned me alive for it... The strongest memory I have is of the heat and how it devoured me." She shuddered and squeezed her eyes shut. Maybe she wasn't ready yet.

Smoke was gathering in her head again, confusing her, misleading her. She did not notice how her teeth ground together, or how her palms trapped the leaves within them. She balled up her fists, not in anger but in anguish. All she could feel was burning.

Noise accumulated in Misty's ears. The chants and jeers of her executioners grew violent. She was afraid of them now. The night-time masked her cries as she fought hopelessly to escape. Ragged bushes clawed at her exposed flesh with talons as sharp as glass. It was the only time nature had betrayed her. It simply watched as they dragged her towards the stake, each man satisfied by his own godliness. Their hatred burned as fiercely as the waiting flames.

The fire wrapped around her chest, quickening her breathing. She did not notice her legs recoil, or Cordelia withdraw her hands sharply, concerned. The dense buzz of voices surrounded her. She was ensnared and isolated by the frothing memories. They ambushed her. The flickering match, the menacing silhouettes; burnt into her body and into her mind, where even the swamp had failed to heal her.

"_It's you that will end in flames – I swear it!" _Those words danced inside her and were lost in the billowing haze. The fire slithered up her limbs like a vine, constricting her, suffocating her. It hissed into her ears, both in warning and in mockery. She could only concede under its strength.

Hands struggled to restrain her. She fought against them, striking out with her clenched fists.

"Misty!" someone was shouting. "Misty! I'm here, come back to me." The calm tones coaxed away the flames and allowed her to breathe again. "It's ok, you're ok."

Misty gasped and dropped her arms. She opened her eyes; saw the leaves strewn across the floor. Her hands twitched in terror and her chest palpitated. Cordelia's scarred, reassuring face looked back at her, yearning to remove her pain.

"It's ok," she repeated, bringing her hands up to Misty's shoulders. "We don't have to do this now. I'm sorry, I asked too much of you."

Misty fell against Cordelia, her body quivering as she chased away the remaining sparks of memory. She felt Cordelia's arms embrace her, a new kind of safety. She could find peace here.

* * *

Cordelia had held Misty and passed innumerable hours cradling her until she slept. The swamp witch was wounded beyond Cordelia's comprehension. She deserved the freedom to repair in her own time.

Cordelia had guided Misty, with difficulty, to her bed and waited for sleep to reach her once more. She left only briefly to search for chrysanthemums, which she arranged atop Misty's pillows. They would prevent the fire from attacking again. She monitored the rhythm of Misty's breathing and guarded her until it steadied.

Misty was still finding her voice. The Seven Wonders were out of the question and Cordelia was determined to protect her from their horrors.

Seizing her cane from the ground, Cordelia stormed into the corridor, invigorated. Her blindness didn't bother her as she paced towards the staircase, sensing the warmth of sunlight on her back. The very walls of the Academy seemed on edge.

Her boots clacked over the wood in accompaniment with the tap of her cane. The rest of the house stayed silent in response. She was filled by a new intensity and will to fight for the rights of her Coven. She descended down the staircase, gripping the banister, fixated on every step she took. Almost with a skip, she arrived on the ground floor and grinned at her ease of movement.

She strode towards the lounge, listening out for the oscillation of a Theremin nearby. Satisfied by the quietness, she continued towards the archway of the lounge and walked in.

"Auntie Myrtle?"

"Ah, Delia! I wondered where you had been hiding all morning!" Myrtle replied enthusiastically. She rose dramatically from her seat and glided towards the doorway. "Tell me it wasn't you I almost stumbled over in the darkness last night," she laughed, leaning to plant a kiss on Cordelia's cheek.

Cordelia smiled, detecting tasselled fabric from Myrtle's outfit gloss over her arm. Even in blindness, Cordelia could sense her extravagance.

"Dear girl, why do you look so concerned? Come, sit with me," Myrtle said. She grasped Cordelia's hand and led her to the sofa, signalling their arrival with her spare arm. Her grandeur did not require an audience.

"I came to talk to you about Misty," Cordelia began, arranging her cane between her knees.

"Ah yes, our glorious swamp witch," Myrtle replied.

"I don't want her involved in the Seven Wonders. She's too broken," Cordelia started, but was brashly interrupted.

"Life has ravaged her... and that's exactly what this Coven needs." She gestured at the space they sat in, conducting attention to the each historic artefact within it. "She brings intensity – the passion and wilderness this Coven aches for to survive. She will compete."

"But she is still healing, Myrtle. I don't think she's ready for this kind of challenge. There are too many risks," Cordelia bit back.

"I've said it before, Cordelia, and I am not afraid of repeating myself. She has brought more people back from the dead than Jesus Christ himself!" Myrtle ascended from the sofa and floated across the lounge. She paused beside the fireplace, sighing in disappointment. "Our Coven has suffered because of those who took too much initiative but never applied it. If Misty Day is willing to participate then I wholly support her. Nay, I insist upon her presence. There is more to her than even you can see, Cordelia."

Cordelia tensed up at Myrtle's emphasis on her sight. She poured her shoulders back and raised her head. "There is too much danger for such an inexperienced witch. What about Descensum? I need more time to teach her before I let her undergo such an ordeal. I won't let her become someone for the other girls to ridicule. She's suffered enough because of them." Her boots rocked irritably on the floor.

"As the remaining Head of your Council, I demand her participation," Myrtle concluded. "She will partake in the Seven Wonders. On the spirit of Elsa Schiaparelli, I affirm it." There would be no further arguments.

With the flick of her head, Myrtle alighted from the room, hesitating only to place an authoritative hand on Cordelia's neck. The headmistress accepted it resentfully, knowing full well that she would continue to fight for Misty.

She thought of Misty's naive eyes, of her eager face. Nature brought them safety, but if Misty was to have any hope in the Seven Wonders, Cordelia would have to teach her how to overcome it. And prepare her for the fallout.

She picked herself out of her seat and trod delicately back to the staircase. She felt a breeze bombard her as footsteps approached from the corridor.

"Smile, Delia! You could be looking at your new Supreme," Madison smirked, swaying past her. She was too caught up in preparation to reply. Stabbing her cane in the air, she preserved the image of Misty in her mind.

_I will protect you,_ she whispered, longing to hold Misty's fragile body. _I will be your safety._


End file.
